


A Wonder of the World

by narcissablaxk



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Braime - Freeform, F/M, Happy Ending, Modern AU, Titanic AU, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-02-16 05:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: Brienne boards the Titanic with Hyle Hunt, her fiance, knowing that they will be married when they land in New York. Jaime and his brother board the Titanic with tickets they won in a poker game, intent on making it to New York to build a new life without their father.A happy ending Titanic AU.





	1. Chapter 1

Jaime could feel the sun through the dusty windows of the pub, sharp and bright and just enough to make him squint. The room, in response, was thick with ennui and humidity. He pushed his blond hair out of his eyes and surveyed the men across the table. Two fair men, both pale in hair, skin, and eyes, stared back at him. His brother, Tyrion, held five cards in front of his face, obscuring his eyes to his opponents. 

“What are you waiting for?” Jaime muttered in his ear. “Put your cards down, win the money, and let’s go.” 

Tyrion lowered his cards just a fraction of an inch before he leaned back to whisper, “Do you want on that bloody boat or not?” 

“We can’t afford it,” Jaime replied. 

“We will,” Tyrion promised. He lowered his cards to the table so they were flat against the unsanded wood. “Well, boys, call. Cough up.” 

“You have nothing left to bet,” the Swedish man replied, a smirk dancing over his face. 

“Oh, I suppose you’re right,” Tyrion mused, the lie easily detectable to Jaime, but their opponents looks almost ravenous at the idea of an easy mark. “Dearest brother, will you –?” he motioned to the ring on Jaime’s middle finger, gold with the insignia of a lion, their family’s crest. 

“You want – you want me to bet a family heirloom?” he hissed, just loud enough that he knew the Swedes would hear. “Father would kill us.” 

“Well, if you want to get away from Father, give it to me,” Tyrion replied, his voice carefully cultivated. He sounded nervous, almost frail, and Jaime had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. It was the same tone he reserved for their mother, when she was alive, to get anything he wanted. It always worked. 

Jaime made a show of huffing and pulling the ring off his finger. “Fine,” he said, shoving it across the table. 

The Swedes were practically drooling at the sight of it, and Jaime tapped his brother on the hip to let him know he noticed. “Now, boys,” Tyrion said. “Ante up.” 

The Swedes pushed their coins into the middle of the table eagerly. Tyrion clicked his tongue in disapproval while Jaime took a long drink from his glass to hide his smile. 

“That ring is worth a fortune,” he said. “Worth way more than what you’ve got.” 

“What do you want?” The belligerent one of the two, on Jaime’s left, blurted. 

“I want your tickets,” Tyrion said. “For the boat.” 

“For the Titanic?” The other one asked. 

“That’s what he said,” Jaime added. “It’s an equal trade.” 

The two Swedes exchanged glances, their eyes wide and excited enough that their entire unspoken conversation was easy to see. Tyrion, beneath the table, tapped his foot on the ground, just twice before he caught himself. Jaime reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cigarette, which he put between his lips, unlit. 

“Fine,” the larger one said, pulling the tickets out of his pocket and shoving them forward. 

“Alright, boys, show ‘em,” Tyrion said, holding his cards close. One Swede dropped his cards, revealing triple tens; the other had a straight, two to six. Tyrion grinned, and dropped the cards on the table, not bothering to keep them arranged. It was clear, to anyone who glanced for half a moment, that he had a full house. 

Immediately, Jaime reached over the table and snatched his ring off the table, slipping the gold band on his middle finger again. 

Tyrion pulled the pile of money toward himself, opening the bag in his lap to hold it all, and separated the tickets for the boat. Jaime watched him do it with pride, his eyes stuck on the tickets to the Titanic. It was supposed to be a mechanical miracle, a marvel of engineering. No one had ever seen anything like it. 

Not only that, but that boat would dock in New York, an entire ocean away from his tyrannical father, his oppressive family, and everything Jaime hated about himself. 

“It was nice doing business with you,” Tyrion said, his graciousness easily outweighed by his smug smile, and Jaime had to usher him from the room when the boat, just outside the pub, let out a great loud sound. If they didn’t hurry, the whole poker game would have been for naught. 

“Did you have to tease them?” Jaime panted, listening carefully for the sounds of a pursuit. Luckily, beyond a tussle when the Swedes rose from the table, he couldn’t hear much else. “What if they tried to take it back by force?” 

“That’s why I have my great big brother here,” Tyrion said, struggling to keep up with Jaime’s longer strides. “So he can protect me when my mouth gets ahead of my brain.” 

Jaime rolled his eyes and pulled his brother along. Outside, the sun was even more intense, only bolstered by the crowd of people standing at the dock, staring up at the huge ship. Jaime elbowed his way through the crowd, sparing “excuse me” for only the people who looked particularly scandalized by his movement. The plank was still down, but the line was gone, everyone else seemingly onboard already. 

“Let’s do this,” Tyrion said encouragingly, passing the ticket to Jaime, who grabbed it with a grin. “Oh, Jaime, watch out.” 

Jaime looked up just in time to see the edge of a woman’s blue sleeve before he collided with her. She yelped in surprise, her hands steadying herself without his help by taking hold of the top of his arms. He allowed her the contact, already glancing around to see who might have noticed that he almost ran some poor girl over. 

“Do watch where you’re going,” she said, her voice sharp and intelligent as she released him. It wasn’t until that moment that Jaime realized she was taller than he was, if only by a couple of inches. But he was not a short man, and he was so stunned that he could not respond. He looked up, his gaze landing on an extraordinary pair of blue eyes, the same color of her dress, and as soon as he saw them, they were gone, drifting into the crowd and away from him. 

“Ticket, sir,” a man in a uniform insisted, holding his hand out for Jaime’s ticket. Tyrion was already standing on the other side of him, glaring at Jaime like he was a madman. 

“Sorry,” Jaime apologized, passing the ticket over for inspection. “Who was that woman?” he asked. The ticketman took hold of the ticket, punched it, and handed it back. 

“That’s the Tarth family,” he said without having to look. “Selwyn Tarth and his daughter, Brienne. With her fiancé, Mr. Hyle Hunt.” 

“Hyle Hunt, you say?” Tyrion called from the deck of the boat, where Jaime was rapidly ascending. “Well, unless you want Father to know where we are, we might want to stay away from anyone in that family.” 

“The Tarths or the Hunts?” 

“Don’t be daft, Father doesn’t give a damn about the Tarths,” Tyrion said, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “The Tarths have enough money that Father cannot intimidate them into doing his bidding. The Hunts, though, the Hunts have been on the edge of destitute for half a generation. Father can make them do anything, which means everyone in that family is anxious to provide Father with any information he might desire.” 

“My brother,” Jaime clapped him heavily on the shoulder. “So smart.” 

“Don’t give me a compliment to make me forget that you didn’t even acknowledge that you were listening to me,” Tyrion laughed. “Don’t go near that girl.” 

“Why would I?” Jaime shrugged. 

Tyrion raised his eyebrows at him but didn’t answer. 

***

“Are you alright, darling?” Hyle’s voice was, by all accounts, affectionate and considerate, but Brienne found it grating all the same. He always spared those words, affectionate ones like ‘darling,’ ‘sweet,’ ‘love,’ when her father was around, but when he wasn’t, Hyle couldn’t bear to say those words without laughing at them. 

Hearing them with any semblance of sincerity made her nauseous, but she was proud of herself for not taking her hand out of Hyle’s immediately. “Why wouldn’t I be fine?” 

“That man, that…grubby one, practically ran you over,” Hyle brushed a piece of blonde hair out of her eyes, the curl just barely freeing itself from her haphazard updo, and Brienne tensed, resisting the urge to move away from his hand. “Though I suppose it will take more than that to bowl you over, wouldn’t it?” 

“What are we discussing?” her father’s voice was a welcome reprieve, and Brienne immediately extricated herself from her fiancé to take her father’s arm instead. No one watching could fault her for that, she reasoned, casting her eyes about the deck. To anyone watching, she looked like a daughter, being affectionate with her father. That was proper. 

“A ragamuffin ran into my dear Brienne,” Hyle said with a long suffering sigh that Brienne rolled her eyes at. “I was just making sure she was okay.” 

“Ragamuffin is a bit of an overexaggeration,” Brienne said to her father’s worried gaze. “He just wasn’t looking where he was going, I’m fine.” 

“He was a ragamuffin, my love,” Hyle interrupted, slipping his arm into the crook of Brienne’s other elbow. Lest she become a barrier to other passengers, her arms hooked by her father and her fiance’s, she released her father. “Dirty, smelly, rude. Low class.” 

“And how do you know what he smelled like?” Brienne asked, furrowing her brow. 

Without answering, Hyle reached up and tucked her stray blonde curl behind her ear, the movement stopping Brienne in her tracks. “You should go to our cabin and freshen up,” he said, his nose wrinkling on the last two words. 

Brienne felt a blush creep up her neck. If there was anything Hyle was good at (and there wasn’t many), he was remarkably adept at choosing just the right intonation of otherwise innocuous words. Often, he would ask Brienne things like “are you wearing that?” or “are you sure that’s how you want to spend your day?” and Brienne would be left worried and paranoid that, again, she was somehow not woman enough for her family’s station, not dainty or pretty enough to be a wife, not enough overall. 

She nodded, and excused herself, leaving her father and Hyle behind. 

“Miss Brienne,” a soft voice caught her attention and she jumped, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Brienne.” 

She turned halfway to find Podrick, a member of her family’s staff, almost behind her. She had almost forgotten him, he was so quiet. He surveyed her with worried eyes, probably concerned that she would be angry that he startled her. Instead, she rearranged her face as kindly as she could. 

“Yes, Pod?” she asked, resorting to the shortened version of his name that she only used when no one else was around. He flushed and avoided her gaze at the use of the nickname. 

“I was just…I was going to escort you to your cabin,” he offered. “I already took your bags, along with Mr. Hunt’s –”

“Lead the way,” she interrupted. Pod nodded eagerly and moved down the deck, just a step ahead of her. After a moment, Brienne offered Pod her arm. It wouldn’t be quite proper, but did propriety really matter if most of the people on the boat were so caught up in their own business that they wouldn’t notice that Selwyn Tarth’s daughter was linking arms with a member of their staff? 

“Miss Brienne –”

“It’s easier this way,” she assured him. “That way, I won’t lose you in the crowd.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She fell silent, the spare blonde curl flying in front of her face again with the sea wind. She left it alone; she liked that curl, rebellious as it was. It felt like the last bit of her spirit, uncontained and free. But soon, Hyle would take that from her too, wouldn’t he? They were to be married when they got to New York, and they would open a branch of her father’s business there. The idea of being stuck across the ocean from her father, with Hyle nonetheless, made her feel like vomiting over the side of the boat. 

Hyle would be running the business, never mind that Brienne had been helping her father run his business in Southampton since her mother died. With that control, Brienne wouldn’t have her own money or freedom. Her life would end when this boat docked. 

“Pod,” she said tentatively. “What do you think of Hyle?” 

“Mr. Hunt?” Pod repeated. 

“Yes, Mr. Hunt,” Brienne said. “What do you think of him?” 

Pod tensed his lips. “It – it wouldn’t be – proper –”

“No one will hear you,” Brienne said softly. “I won’t tell.” 

“I think he’s a rude, inconsiderate arse,” Pod exclaimed. “I think he behaves like he is much richer than he is, and I think he has taken advantage of your father’s good graces, and I think he is much too cold to be deserving of you, Miss Brienne.” 

Brienne laughed, loud enough that for a moment, all of her worry melted away. Podrick watched her laugh with a half-smile on his face, reassured that she wasn’t offended by his opinions. 

“I do think you’re quite right,” she agreed, tucking that curl behind her ear again. 

“Could I ask –”

“Of course you can.” 

“Why are you marrying him then, if you don’t like him?” Pod asked. 

Brienne smiled weakly, the worry coming back in a tidal wave. “Because, Podrick, no one else would marry me,” she muttered. “So my father made a match of some kind with the son of one of his former business partners. Hyle only agreed to marry me because of Father’s money.” 

“I’m sure there are many men out there who would love to –”

“Don’t try to flatter me,” she replied. “I’m big, I’m brutish, I’m ugly.” 

“You’re not –”

“I thought I told you not to flatter me,” Brienne snapped. “It’s fine, I have no delusions about what I am. I’m not desirable to men, in any fashion. If my family didn’t have money, I would be an old maid. I don’t have those natural graces that other women have from birth. I’ve never been able to dance, I don’t like going to parties, I’m not particularly mild of temper.” She shrugged, and Pod, beside her, squirmed uncomfortably. 

“I’ve – well I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” Pod offered quietly. 

“You know, I am aware that I am very lucky,” Brienne said softly. “My family has money, so I don’t have to worry about things like survival. But sometimes I wish I could be poor, so I could at least marry who I choose. Someone I love.” She laughed mirthlessly. “That’s also assuming that someone would ever love me enough to marry me.” 

“You deserve love, Miss Brienne,” Pod’s voice was so tender that Brienne could have cried.

She ignored him, and they walked the rest of the way in silence, Pod directing her as best he could to the suite her father had booked for her and Hyle. The room itself was too decadent, far too big for Brienne’s taste – she would have been happy with a normal-sized room, alone. 

“I’ll leave you here, Miss Brienne,” Pod said as she looked at the furniture with a wrinkled nose. “I will wait for you outside to escort you back.” 

“Thank you, Podrick,” she murmured. 

At least her father let her bring her art, she thought wistfully, glancing at the piles of canvases heaped against the wall. The rest she didn’t really care about. Brienne cared far more for art than other pretty things like jewels and dresses. In fact, she preferred trousers.

She caught her reflection in the mirror and winced. She really was so large, so mannish, so…not feminine. Self-loathing washed over her again and she wiped a tear off of her cheek that she didn’t know she had shed. 

The blonde curl fell from behind her ear again and she grabbed it and shoved it back harshly. She was so tired of this, of the propriety, the dresses, the jewelry, the hair. She pulled the pins out and watched her blonde hair tumble down to between her shoulder blades. It was the only thing about her appearance that she didn’t hate, but now, when she felt almost full to bursting of hatred for herself, that she wished she could just cut it all off. 

She looked down at the rest of herself, at her blue dress and white gloves and stupid necklace and reached, almost absently, for the letter opener on the dresser. She held it in her large hands, marveling at how small the little instrument was, and how much damage it could cause. 

Before she could think, or talk herself out of it, she pulled the rebellious curl forward and slid the letter opener against it. She watched the blonde hair flutter to the dresser, the curl now so short that it would now no longer be pushed behind her ear.

No, it would linger where everyone could see it at all times. 

The thought gave her a little bit of comfort.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne struggles through a painful dinner, Jaime enjoys the poor life, and they have their first conversation. CW: suicide mention, suicidal thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I mentioned this in the summary but I'm going to say it here too: this chapter does have mention of suicide and suicidal thoughts. If that triggers you, please do not read.

Dinner came much sooner than Brienne would have liked. She and Pod passed the time by walking around the deck, Brienne enjoying the warm sunshine and the constant sight of her one short curl. She stared at the ocean’s depths, wishing almost absently that she could feel the spray on her face, the way she could on her father’s boat in Southampton. But alas, they were too far up, and Pod’s hand in her arm was tight and nervous, so she abandoned the idea and let him lead her around and around the same deck, no motivation to go anywhere else, especially to any place where she might accidentally run into her fiancé. 

“It is almost time for dinner,” Pod reminded her. “Would you like to get changed, Miss Brienne?” 

She didn’t, but she acquiesced and let Pod lead her back to her suite. She stared at herself in the mirror for a long time; her broad, strong shoulders, her unfeminine facial structure, her wide hips and waist. She certainly didn’t look like the typical wife. Still, she liked the blue dress she was wearing; it brought out her eyes, the only physical part of herself she didn’t loathe. 

But Hyle had set out her red dress, the one with gold accents and a tight bodice. She sighed, slipping the blue dress off and picking up the red one. 

She left the blue dress on the floor, crumbled and weak. 

***

“There’s something very appealing about not having to go to the formal dinner these things have,” Tyrion pointed out, clinking his mug against Jaime’s, almost sloshing the alcohol out of it. “No suits, no stuffy conversations, only one fork.” 

“Who knew you hated the rich life so much,” Jaime laughed. 

“It has its perks,” Tyrion admitted, “but the baggage that comes with it isn’t worth the room service.” 

“You know, you’re right,” Jaime said, taking a healthy bite of his sandwich. It was cheese and something else, but he was too hungry to care or ask. Tyrion watched him eat with amusement sparkling in his eyes. “The food is better, too.” 

“Have you decided what you want to do when we get to America?” Tyrion asked. 

Jamie chewed pensively and considered his answer. “Not really,” he shrugged. “I figured most of my ideas would be terrible and I’ll end up doing whatever you want to do.” 

Tyrion laughed. “You know, I do take your counsel into account.” 

“Sure,” Jaime said with a wink. “With all of my great ideas.” 

“One of your greatest ideas was picking up that charcoal,” Tyrion said, indicating the pencil sticking out of Jaime’s front pocket. “Why don’t you pursue art?” 

Jaime shrugged halfheartedly and took another bite of his sandwich. “Can’t make money that way.” 

“You can if you’re good,” Tyrion said. “And you’re good.” 

“Tell that to Father.” 

“I’d be glad to,” Tyrion said, puffing up his chest. “Call him over.” Jaime laughed, but Tyrion’s mirth melted off his face, replaced by a serious purse of his lips. “Father isn’t a part of our lives anymore. You don’t have to worry about what he thinks.” 

To spare himself from answering, Jaime shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and nodded to his brother, grabbing his sketchbook from the seat beside him and slid into the crowd. The idea that he would never see his father again was, while welcome, terrifying. Tywin Lannister had been part of Jaime’s life since the beginning, and now, he existed as a reminder that Jaime could never go back to the innocent years of childhood and adolescence. He was now stuck, moving forward without any way to change direction, the same as this giant boat. 

The sea air was crisp and Jaime inhaled it for a moment before he retired to one of the few chairs littered among the below decks. The rich people, on the decks above him, got several chairs every few feet. 

Guess rich people don’t like standing, Jaime thought with a smirk. 

He flipped open the book, past a few pages and settled on the unfinished sketch he started in his and Tyrion’s shared bunk. He had barely managed the shape of her jaw and the slope of her nose, and to everyone else, it would just look like a random person, but to Jaime, her face was burned into his eyes. 

He pressed the pencil into the paper and outlined her mouth, all tight and stern, so serious for someone who should be so carefree. One side of her mouth was a little more downturned than the other, and he carefully traced it, lifting the corresponding side of his mouth as he did. 

***

Dinner was excruciating. Not only was Brienne expected to sit through a five-course meal with Hyle, but he had invited various people he’d met on the boat to dine with them, all varying degrees of boring and irritating. As it was, she had been forced to listen to Hyle and Ben Bushy, who he apparently knew since childhood, talk about how magnificent the Titanic was. 

As if that was a scintillating topic of conversation. 

Across from her, Edmund Ambrose, another rich man’s son with a cruel quirk to his mouth surveyed Brienne like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, and Roose Bolton ignored them all, talking closely with Brienne’s father. She wished desperately to be part of that conversation, but her father had given her an almost imperceptible shake of his head when she watched them too closely. 

The only pair of people at the table that didn’t seem horrendous were Sansa Stark and a man with a burn on his face that only offered his last name when prompted. Clegane. 

Sansa Stark seemed to be impervious to the rules of propriety; she was breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her, but she was kind. She had no problem holding her husband’s hand during dinner, and she unapologetically used the same fork through all five courses. 

“Why change them?” she whispered to Brienne with a lift of one of her shoulders. “They’re all the same.” 

Clegane (whatever his first name was) was broody and quiet, but when Sansa was talking with Brienne or anyone else, Brienne could see the affection shining through his eyes when he looked at his wife.

Brienne wanted to talk with her more, wanted to learn anything she could about who Sansa was and how she managed to come out of marriage happy, but soon dinner was over and she took the opportunity to take air with her father before he could slip away and leave her alone with Hyle. 

“You look radiant, my beautiful daughter,” Selwyn said, smiling warmly at her. 

Brienne almost scoffed. She wore the dress Hyle wanted her to wear, thinking it would be the easiest course forward, but of course that hadn’t been enough. Immediately he pointed out that red wasn’t her color, that her face needed more powder, that her hair looked ridiculous. 

“Father,” she began, her voice just barely unsteady. “I wanted to ask –”

“Hyle has made himself out to be a perfect gentleman,” her father continued. “I am proud that he seems to be maturing well.” 

Brienne snapped her mouth closed, her teeth grinding together. “I suppose…you want me to marry him?” 

Selwyn paused, glancing up at his daughter, a few inches taller than him in her heeled boots. “Of course I do,” he said cautiously. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Because he’s a cruel oaf, Brienne thought coldly. “Because,” she said instead, “he doesn’t seem to like me much,” she said, and it amazed her how much saying that statement out loud hurt her. It was true enough, she already knew that, but admitting her fault to her father still felt like she was, somehow letting him down.

“He will grow to love you,” her father said firmly, confidently. “Anyone would.” 

“Maybe if I were beautiful,” she muttered. 

“You are beautiful.” 

But the words felt hollow, almost like he’d said them so many times that they lost their meaning. Still, tears rose in Brienne’s eyes, unbidden, and she blinked them back. “Father, if he doesn’t grow to love me, and I know he won’t,” a tear slipped out and she turned away to discretely brush it away. “He will grow cold, and cruel, and I will be in a new country with no freedom.” 

Her father sighed. “Brienne, you can’t think like this –”

“I can think like this,” she cried. “It’s my future, my happiness.” 

“And you will have a future,” her father replied, a tad sharply, and Brienne recoiled, another tear shaking loose. “You will have happiness.” 

“I won’t,” she said softly, and it was almost a whisper. “Why don’t you believe me?” 

“I made the best choices I could, as your father,” Selwyn said, and his voice faltered for a moment before he considered. “I wanted you to have a chance at happiness, but I needed you to marry someone who could run my business when I die. Hyle Hunt is that man. If you do not feel happy now, you must be patient.” 

“He hates me,” she said, and she was sobbing now, trying to wipe the tears away as best she could. “I know he does, he says as much.” 

Her father sighed, and gently brushed a tear off of her chin. “You are a magnificent woman,” he said quietly. “And he will grow to care for you. You just need to be strong.” 

“Why?” she asked, desperate. “Why must I be so strong for so long?” 

“Because,” her father said, and then stopped. “Because I will not be alive to keep you safe forever,” he said, and though Brienne knew he was hiding something from her, something important, she no longer had the strength needed to wheedle it out of him. She lacked that feminine grace, as well. 

Instead, she blinked past her tears and pushed past her father, leaving him standing on the deck, calling her name as she ran. 

***

Jaime had just finished sketching the shadows of her cheekbones when he glanced up at the sound of footsteps. Night had fallen more completely while he drew, but the fact that time passed while he was oblivious was not new to him. 

The man who was walking past him glanced at Jaime as he passed, but didn’t say anything, and Jaime was left to give his eyes a rest from his paper and stare into the expanse of stars and the sea, mixing both completely and incompletely in the distance. 

It really was beautiful out here, but cold. Jaime pulled his coat closer around his shoulders and looked up, to test and see if he could still identify constellations, like he could when he was younger. 

He caught a glimpse of the edge of a red dress, and some boots that, in this light, could almost be green. Someone was on the deck above, alone, leaning against the rail. If Jaime listened closely enough, she could be crying. 

Such was the life of rich people, he thought ruefully. Disillusionment, waves of ennui, hatred of yourself, of your family, of your circumstances. Meanwhile poor people suffered far worse and survived, even thrived. 

And then one of her boots left the deck and reappeared on the other side of the railing. 

She was going to jump. 

He leaped up, his eyes searching his deck for the stairs up, and his boots slid against the clean wood, trying to find purchase, as he scrambled for them. There was a locked gate there, to prevent poor people from mixing with the rich, but he vaulted over them and kept going, skipping steps on his way up. 

She had both legs on the other side of the rail now, her hands on the steel almost careless, the wind blowing her hair haphazardly. She was standing right over the propeller. Jaime recognized that blonde hair, especially when the wind blew again and her hat went flying off her head. 

He scrambled to the edge and stepped over the railing, catching her gaze as he did. She looked shocked to see him there, on her side of the railing, but didn’t speak. There were tear tracks down her cheeks, so consistent and constant that her makeup was gone in those places completely. 

He sidestepped closer to her, close enough that she almost inched away. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

“What are you doing?” he replied. “This is not exactly the best place for adrenaline.” 

“I’m not looking for adrenaline,” she said flatly, and again, Jaime was floored by the sound of her voice. There was something gravelly in there, but sometimes it came out so soft, so sweet. 

“I know what you’re looking for,” Jaime said quietly, and she glanced up at him in alarm. “But you’re not going to do it.” 

She laughed in disbelief. “How do you know that?” 

“Because you would have done it already.” 

She shifted away from him, her eyes falling to the ocean again. Jaime caught her gaze drop and started again. “You know,” he said, “if you fall just there,” he pointed where the ocean was disturbed by the propeller, “you’ll be pulled under by the sharp propeller edges and die almost instantly.” 

“Stop,” she muttered, a fresh wave of tears sliding down her cheeks and Jaime almost feels sorry, he feels the deep ache in his chest, but if what he says frightens her enough that she climbs back over the rail, it would be worth it. 

“Life too hard for a rich girl?” he asked, and the look she gives him is cold, almost icy, but her eyes pin him in place and he can do nothing but gaze in them, hypnotized. 

“You know nothing about my life,” she snapped. 

“But I do know about life,” he pointed out. When she didn’t say anything, he added. “I’m Jaime,” he said, and even though he wants to offer her his hand, he doesn’t. 

“Why are you here, Jaime?” she asked, not offering her own name. 

“Because I can’t just let a beautiful woman fall into the ocean without trying to stop her first,” he shrugged, and the way she looks up at him, with disbelief, makes him feel worse for her. 

“Don’t call me that,” she said firmly. 

“Okay,” he replied. “Look, I know that you think whatever you’re going through is hopeless right now, and maybe it will feel that way for a while. But,” and this time he definitely slides closer to her, close enough that his arm could almost slide around her waist. “It will eventually get better. Things will change, one way or another. It is the only true constant we have.” 

“Just because things change doesn’t mean they’ll get better,” she murmurs, and he can see tears shimmering in her eyes again, and her gaze back on the ocean, cold and unforgiving. 

He gathers his courage and steps, turning himself so he is pressed against her, completely shielding her from the ocean. If she lets go, she will find herself held by his body, pinned by the rail. 

“What are you doing?” she exclaims, but she does not trust him enough to let go of the rail to push him away. Even like this, she is taller than him, and he has to glance up into her eyes. 

“If you don’t want to hear my words, then I will physically stop you from jumping,” he said stubbornly. “Now, if you want to jump, you’ll have to make me jump too.” 

“Get off of me,” she squirmed, and Jaime has to tighten his grip on the railing. She senses his arms tense around her and immediately stops moving, looking down at him in concern. 

“I will let you go,” he murmured, knowing that they were so close he could whisper and she would hear, “if you promise me that you’ll get on the other side of the rail.” 

“You trust my promise?” she asked, looking down at him, her eyes intent on his. 

“Do you trust mine?” he asked in return. 

She doesn’t say anything, but stares at him for a moment, the wind sending her hair flying around them both. He can smell her, like comfort and powder and something like tea. She blinks, something in his gaze confusing her, and then nods. 

He lets go carefully, turning back to his original position. When she sees her glance back to the deck, he jumps back over and offers her his hand. 

She takes it, her fingers cold and shaking, and Jaime wants to take one of her hands in both of his own until they’re warm and comfortable. She carefully swings one leg over the rail, and even as Jaime is thinking that this went well, her boot on the other side slips and he has to catch her, pulling her over the rail and onto the deck, on top of him. 

She is clinging to him tightly, her whole body shaking, and Jaime is reassured once more that she didn’t want to jump, she didn’t want to die. He lets go of her hand and wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his embrace for a moment before he realizes how public they are, how public they’ve been, and how inappropriate this is. 

He gets up, offering her his hand, and takes off his jacket, putting it around her shoulders and rubbing them to make them warm. She’s staring at him again, like she doesn’t know what to say, and he feels almost grateful, because he isn’t sure what to say either. 

“Never would have happened if I could just wear trousers,” she muttered, and Jaime laughs, loud and carefree and a little hysterical, and she smiles at him. 

“I’d like to see you in trousers,” he says before he can stop himself, and she flushes, a deep pink. She pushes her hair behind her ears and seems like she’s going to say something else when someone yells. 

“Miss Brienne!” 

She looks up, and finally he has confirmation of her name. “Bollocks,” she mutters under her breath, and he has to suppress another laugh. 

“Miss Brienne!” it’s the fiancé that’s running to her side, her father close behind. Brienne looks at him and Jaime reads fear in her gaze immediately. He steps away from her, putting proper distance between them both, and lingers on the outside while she stammers out an excuse for whatever they had seen. 

But every now and then, her astonishing eyes catch his, and he feels special for knowing the truth, even if it is an ugly truth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime considers telling Brienne who he really is, Hyle shows more of his true colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up where Chapter Two left off. Warning for some violence.

“I don’t understand,” Hyle was saying, pulling Brienne closer to his side. “Tell it to me again.” 

Brienne’s eyes rose again to find Jaime, still lingering on the periphery of the conversation. He knew better than to leave – to scurry away meant they had something to hide, that he had done something improper. He would be sent for, punished, and she would be guilty of something in the eyes of her future husband and her father. He met her gaze unflinchingly, but did not give her any indication of what she should say. 

“I was just…looking out at the water,” she stammered, her voice still a little shaken. “I like the way the motor makes the waves look, and I slipped.” 

“You _slipped_?” her father asked incredulously. 

“Yes, Father, I slipped,” she insisted harshly. “But…he happened to be walking by, and he grabbed me before I could fall over the edge.” 

Brienne’s father turned his gaze to Jaime, who seemed to understand that it was his turn to speak, to corroborate her story. “I didn’t mean any offense,” he said timidly, and Brienne could hear the falsehood in his voice. He stared up at Brienne’s father with a scrunch in his brow, his posture different than it had been when he was speaking to her, as if he was trying to appear smaller or less conspicuous than he was. 

“What did you say your name was?” Selwyn asked, scrutinizing him still closer. 

“Everyone – everyone calls me Jay,” he said, his eyes flickering over to Brienne for just a moment. 

Well, fine. If he can keep her secret, she could keep his. Whatever that secret was. 

“Thank you for saving my lovely fiancée,” Hyle said, his voice loud in Brienne’s ear to be heard by Jaime. She flinched away from it. 

“Perhaps,” she focused her gaze on her father. “Perhaps there’s something more we could do for…for Jay to thank him,” she said leadingly. Thankfully, her father caught on quickly and turned to Jaime with an expectant raise of his eyebrows. 

“My daughter is right, of course,” he said deferentially. “I do hope you will do us the honor of dining with us tomorrow night?” 

Jaime froze, his jaw tightly clenched. “I – I thank you for the opportunity, sir, but I shouldn’t,” he said nervously. “I – I do not need any compensation for a good deed.” 

“I insist,” Selwyn ducked his head, trying to catch Jaime’s eyes. “I think you deserve more than just a good meal for saving my dear daughter’s life. Hopefully, when we land, I can help you in any way you need.” 

“Now, now, Father, let’s not get hasty,” Hyle said, standing from his spot at Brienne’s side. “Let’s have a meal with the boy before we change his entire life.” 

“I – this is all too generous,” Jaime stammered, stepping away from the two men and toward the stairs that would take him back down to the lower decks. 

“We will see you tomorrow evening, at the grand staircase,” Selwyn said graciously, though his eyes still betrayed a hint of confusion at Jaime’s reaction. Brienne watched as Jaime carefully backed away from them all, as if afraid to show them his back. Before he hopped over the barrier down to the lower decks, he glanced back at Brienne one more time, an evident warning in his eyes. 

But what that warning was…Brienne could not decipher. 

***

Jaime lingered below decks for a few moments, straining his ears to hear the voices above him. Though he kept still, he heard nothing but the rushing of the ocean below him, and the steps of the people above. Cautiously, he retraced his steps back down to his room. Tyrion would be looking for him by now. 

He had to think of a way to get out of this dinner with Brienne’s family. Brienne might not know who he was, but her father and her fiancé would, especially once Jaime dressed according to the strict dress code. Once his identity was out, his father would know where his sons were the moment they landed in New York. 

That wouldn’t do at all. 

But…he rationalized dangerously, this would be an opportunity to see Brienne again. Something about her intrigued him, enough that he was seriously tempted to find a way to talk to her again, to get to know her more completely than he had in their brief conversation. He could see, from the way she moved away from her fiancé, from the way she spoke to her father, that those people were the ones who poisoned her mind, who pushed her to the edge of the boat, and they didn’t even know the pain they’d caused. 

Jaime knew that pain; he’d lived it himself. He couldn’t let someone, especially a woman who had no opportunity to save herself in society, go through the same torture. 

No, he decided suddenly, he had to go to this dinner, his identity be damned, and if that meant he could offer Brienne some kind of assurance that there was another man on his boat who would help her out of whatever mess she was in, that would be enough. 

“Where have you been, I thought you were dead,” Tyrion said, half-jokingly, when Jaime pushed open the door to their shared room. 

Jaime didn’t speak, but climbed up to his top bunk and rummaged through his bag for his hidden stash of money. Telling Tyrion about what happened and what he planned to do was prudent, especially since it would affect him, too, but still, Jaime struggled with where to begin. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Tyrion prodded from below. Jaime’s hand landed on his wad of cash and he quietly leafed through it, trying to count. He would have to rent a tuxedo from someone on the boat or borrow one for this stupid dinner. That meant spending some of his precious money that he planned to save for their new lives in New York. 

“Jaime,” Tyrion insisted. “Come on.” 

“You and I need to take a walk,” Jaime said finally, sliding off the top bunk and back down to the floor. 

Tyrion wrinkled his brow and glanced around the room, at the three other men, already either asleep or getting ready to sleep. “We can talk here,” he said simply. 

“We can’t,” Jaime replied. “Walk with me.” 

***

“Are you going to tell me what really happened up there?” Hyle hissed, his breath slithering over Brienne’s neck, moist and unavoidable. She went rigid but did not flinch away this time. She couldn’t afford to make her disdain for him as apparent as she’d like. 

“I did tell you,” she said calmly, her short curl flying in front of her forehead, just barely visible from her vantage point. “I slipped.” 

“All the way over the railing?” Hyle asked sarcastically. “Must have been quite a slip.” 

She spotted Pod at the entrance to their cabin, and relief bloomed in her chest. “It was,” she agreed, trying not to match Hyle’s insincere tone. “I was lucky Jay was there.” 

Hyle’s grip on her arm tightened. “Yes, this Jay man, why was he there?” he asked. “He certainly didn’t belong on the upper decks. You mean for me to believe that his presence was mere coincidence?” 

Brienne tightened her jaw to keep from snapping back, the retort already on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she inhaled silently and took a careful deep breath to calm her temper. “I have no idea why he was there,” she said nonchalantly. “I’ve never met him before.” 

“Haven’t you?” 

Pod gave Brienne a singular nod that she returned even while her mind struggled to follow Hyle’s implications. She stepped into their cabin and crossed immediately to the dresser, where she unclipped the necklace from around her neck and slid the rings off her fingers. She had no patience for jewels. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, and before she could reach for her earrings, Hyle’s hand had tightened around her upper arm and turned her forcibly to face him. His face, usually composed, was ruddy with anger, the red flush apparent from the bridge of his nose all the way to his receding tuft of hair.

“He’s the same man who ran into you on our way on the boat,” he growled, his grip so tight Brienne could think of almost nothing else. “If you’re playing me for a fool –”

“Let go of me,” she finally relented, trying to squirm out of his grip. He obliged, and Brienne had only a moment of relief before that same hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and held. 

“Your father gave you to _me_ , do you understand?” he asked as she tried to pry his hand out of her hair. “And I will not be cheated out of a deal. You will be a faithful, loyal, submissive wife, and if you don’t –”

Finally, Brienne thought, finally she was going to see who Hyle Hunt really was without his mask of propriety. At last she could make eye contact with the monster beneath. She went still, listening attentively despite the radiating burn of his fist in her hair.

“Sir!” Pod’s voice was shocked enough that even Brienne gasped, but Hyle turned only halfway to the boy before turning back to Brienne as if Pod hadn’t spoken. 

“Do not pull something like this again,” he hissed, and as Pod rushed toward him, shoved Brienne away, sending her slamming into the sharp edge of the dresser, knocking her jewelry to the floor. Pod, seeing his lady released, straightened up and glared at Hyle until he was gone, shutting and locking the door behind him. 

“I’m so sorry, Miss Brienne,” he was saying in a rush, over and over again. “I should have come in earlier, I should have –”

“It’s fine, Pod,” Brienne said, retrieving the jewels from the floor and depositing them back on the dresser. “Don’t get between myself and Hyle ever again,” she added firmly. “He can’t hurt me, but he can hurt you.” 

“Miss Brienne –”

“ _Promise me_ ,” she insisted, grabbing his wrist and holding it tightly. “Promise me you won’t do that again.” 

Pod stared down at her, at the tears of pain swimming in her eyes, at her rumpled hair and bruised arm and gave her a terse nod. She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled herself to her feet, accepting Pod’s anxious hand. The burn in her scalp was already starting to recede, but the ache in her hip was still sharp and painful, and the discoloration on her arm was troublesome. 

“I could go get you some ice, Miss Brienne,” Pod offered. 

Brienne considered the option for a moment before an idea came upon her, too good to miss. “I would love that, Podrick,” she said graciously. “But before you go, do you remember the man who ran into me when we came on board?” 

“Yes, Miss,” Pod said. 

“I need you to find him, and tell him to come back here in a few hours, and to bring scissors, if he can find them,” Brienne said. “Do you want me to write that down for you?” 

“No, Miss, I can remember,” Pod replied. “I imagine you do not want…” he lingered over Hyle’s name, “to know about this?” 

“Absolutely not, Podrick, and make sure that Jay is not seen by anyone on the upper decks. Actually,” she paused, and Pod watched her think for a few moments. “Tell him to find a place we can meet belowdecks and tell him I will meet him there tonight.” 

“But still bring scissors?” 

“Yes, still scissors.” 

***

“You cannot be serious,” Tyrion’s voice was hushed, just in case, but Jaime heard the insistence in there as if he’d shouted it. “Do you understand what you will be doing? Going to that dinner, announcing who you really are, it’ll bring Father right to us.” 

“Only if Hyle and Selwyn are going back to England after we land,” Jaime reasoned. “They might not.” 

“You don’t know that,” Tyrion said matter-of-factly. “You are gambling with our entire future for one dinner with this woman.” 

“She was going to kill herself,” Jaime replied. “And I know it’s because of Hyle. I can’t just…not help her.” 

“You _can_ ,” Tyrion pressed. “You can because you’ll be helping yourself.” 

Jaime looked down at his brother, knowing that Tyrion didn’t understand his connection with Brienne, hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, and still, felt resentment simmer low in his belly at the idea of not helping Brienne. Tyrion didn’t know how engaging she was, how bright, how tenacious. He didn’t know what it felt like to look into her depthless eyes and see the fight go out of them. He didn’t know what Jaime knew. 

“This is worth the sacrifice,” he said softly. “I won’t tell them you’re here. You can still be safe.” 

“Father will come after you,” Tyrion promised darkly. “You are his first-born.” 

“And I will deal with Father if it comes to that.” 

Tyrion paused and looked up at his brother, brow furrowed in determination. “I hope this girl is worth your life.” 

“Sir, excuse me –”

Immediately, Tyrion’s sharp eyes scoped out the newcomer skeptically. Jaime, who recognized him from Brienne’s side, took a half-step in front of his brother. 

“You’re Miss Brienne’s man, aren’t you?” he asked quietly, his eyes scanning the deck for any eavesdroppers. Podrick, a bucket of ice under one arm, nodded. “Does she need something?” 

“She would like for you to find a place for you two to meet belowdecks,” Podrick said quietly. “If you tell me where it is, I will tell her and escort her to you.” 

Tyrion, from behind Jaime, scoffed quietly under his breath, where only Jaime could hear. Suddenly, it didn’t matter what Tyrion thought, she wanted to see him again. Jaime had to suppress a smile.

“She wants to meet me?” Jaime asked incredulously. “Belowdecks? That’s not proper.” 

“Discretion is paramount, sir, not propriety,” Podrick explained. 

There was something almost scandalous in that statement, and Jaime could feel the warmth in his cheeks as his mind worked it out. To hide it, he cleared his throat and nodded. 

“There is a dance hall belowdecks that is almost always crowded,” Jaime said. “In an antebellum room off of the dance hall are a couple of rooms where we can meet. No one goes there.” 

“I will bring her,” Podrick said. “Oh, and she would also like for you to bring a pair of scissors.” 

***

While Podrick was gone, Brienne searched her room for one of her suitcases, the one Hyle wanted her to leave behind. In fact, she had stuffed it inside the boxes that housed her art, knowing that Hyle didn’t care enough about the paintings to look inside. She pulled it out, a ragged, dark brown leather thing, and rummaged through it, pulling out a pair of trousers and a shirt. 

She put them on, carefully sliding the dress over the bruise rapidly forming on her hip and scrutinizing it in the mirror. She felt more herself in her trousers, more herself than in any dress. There was something about the comfort that trousers provided her, the freedom of movement perhaps, that made Brienne feel at ease even in a situation where ease was hard to come by. 

She tied her hair up, carefully hiding the amount of hair she had, and took a wet washcloth to her face, removing every bit of makeup as she went. 

When she was finished, a boyish, large woman stood in her spot in front of the mirror and while she wasn’t beautiful, Brienne at least recognized her as herself. 

“Miss Brienne,” Podrick knocked twice and slid in through the door. “Oh, you found your trousers.” 

“I did,” she acknowledged, reaching for the ice Podrick had tucked under his arm, just starting to melt. “Did you find Jay?” 

Podrick helped her fish out a few pieces of ice and wrapped it in the same cloth Brienne had just used to wipe off her makeup and held it to her arm. “I did, Miss. He says he has a place where you can meet, and said he would try to find the scissors.”

“Splendid,” Brienne said. “Can you take me there?” 

***

The room Jaime chose was nothing more than an old closet; a pile of old brooms lingered in one corner, cobwebs in the other. On the far wall was a rusted old mirror with a crack down the middle, clearly left in that room and replaced wherever it had originally been housed. Momentarily, he considered that this place would not be suitable for her, and he should choose another, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself running in and out of doors that hadn’t seen occupants since the ship was built. 

So he stayed, occupying himself by trying to clean the dust off of some of the surfaces before she appeared. Maybe she wasn’t coming – maybe she decided that coming here was too big of a risk, or perhaps her fiancé had come back and caught her. 

Once the thought entered his mind, he couldn’t shake it loose. What if Hyle had caught her trying to leave? What if she was hurt somewhere? 

“Should I call you Jay now?” Her voice was softer than he remembered, probably hushed so as to not be overheard. “Or was that just for their benefit?” 

He had to turn around to see her completely, and immediately his mouth went dry. In his entire adult life, he had seen very few women in trousers, if any, and at the moment, he couldn’t seem to recall them. In fact, he couldn’t recall much of anything. It didn’t look like she noticed his staring, because when he brought his eyes back up to her face, she was still looking at him challengingly, waiting for his answer. 

“I told you my real name,” Jaime said, matching her volume and taking care to shut the door completely behind her. “But my name means something else to them.” 

“What does that mean?” she asked, and he sensed a level of hesitation in her voice now. He wanted to tell her, and he had originally planned to tell her in this dusty, horrible broom closet, but she looked almost angry, and if she decided to uninvite him from tomorrow’s dinner, if she never wanted to see him again – no, he would wait. 

“You will see tomorrow,” he replied. “Now, I’ve brought your scissors, Miss, now will you tell me what you plan to do with them?” 

She surveyed his face for a moment longer, as if trying to divine his meaning from just the lines around his eyes. He allowed her the time to look, just in case tomorrow’s dinner went poorly. Finally, she pulled her eyes away from him and reached up to her hair, covered in what looked like a man’s hat, probably to avoid detection. She pulled the hat off and with it came cascading white blonde curls, down to between her shoulder blades. 

“It’s what I want you to do with them,” she said, and Jaime was so distracted by her hair that the statement hung between them for a long time before he processed it. 

“If you want me to stab your fiancé with them –”

“I think I would prefer to handle that on my own, thank you,” she answered deftly. “No, I want you to cut my hair.” 

“What, like off?” he blurted. 

She raised her eyebrows at his outburst and nodded. “I’m tired of my hair, and I’m tired of its existence. It mocks me, so I want it gone.” 

She ran her fingers through it, tentatively, and Jaime caught her wince and gingerly touch her scalp. He had seen his sister do the same thing enough times to know what happened there. Rage simmered in his chest, but he pushed it down. Brienne didn’t need him patronizing her, didn’t need his pity. If she did, she would have asked for it. Instead, he stepped closer to her, scissors in one hand, and reached for a couple of locks of hair. She turned to face the mirror and they watched each other’s reflections, both sets of bright eyes wide. 

“How short?” he asked, his voice soft enough to flutter over her cheek. 

“Short as you can get it,” she replied. 

He smiled in spite of himself. Here again was the fire in her gaze that enchanted him so much. No other woman on this ship would dare wear trousers, especially when she could be seen, and no women he had ever met would want her hair cut like a man’s. But Brienne had a purpose, and determination glittered in her gaze, intoxicating and fulfilling, and before he could think, Jaime raised the scissors and sliced through three curls. 

They watched them flutter to the floor, as soft as singular snowflakes. No one spoke, and the boat barely rocked. It was like they stopped time somehow, and lingered in between spaces, just barely touching, barely aware of the other. And yet, there was comfort. 

“Keep going?” he asked. 

“Keep going,” she said.


End file.
